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'<^-t^(>(>^^-tJ(-u^ Vol . "l-o. (f^PU^ J6 V 






* OE, 

SOLACES OF THE CHRISTIAN MOUENER, 

AND 

OTHER THOUGHTS ON BEREAYEMENT. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 



" THE FAITHFUL PROMISER," « NIGHT WATCHES," 

&C. &C. i'"^"" 

'Who pp.ssing through the valley of Baca {weeping), make it 
a Well." — Psalm Ixxxir. 6. 



FROM THE LONDON EDITION. 

BOSTON: 

T. R. MARVIN, AND S. K. WHIPPLE & CO. 
NEW YORK : NEWMAN AND ITISON. 

1854. 



-^o 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

T. R. MARVIN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
Massachusetts. 



THE BEREAVED CHRISTIAN, 



MOURNING THE LOSS 



OF THOSE WHO HAVE FALLEN 



ASLEEP IN JESUS, 



friktB nf Ippitlljii 

IS INSCRIBED. 

(3) 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
THE CONTRAST, . . . . . . . .9 

THE KETROSPECT, 17 

THE MAN OF SORROWS, 27 

THE GOURD, . ." 37 

THE FURNACE, 44 

THE SOLACE, 53 

THE CROWN, 59 

(4) 



PREFACE 

TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 



" Every heart knoweth its own bitterness," and 
"a stranger is not permitted to intermeddle," — 
yet we are commanded to "bear one another's 
burdens ; " and hence the law and duty of human 
sympathy. While it is true that there is a grief 
which no human power can relieve, and scarcely 
mitigate, it is no less true that the subjects of such 
grief are better fitted to endure their sorrow when 
assured of the tender sympathy of friends, than 
when left to pine away in lonely grief. Expe- 
rience in the furnace of affliction is the best pre- 
parative to enable us to afford grateful succor to 
bereaved friends. 

It is not well to shrink from society and refuse 
to be comforted. God chastens in love, and we 
do not wisely to close our eyes to the proofs of his 
goodness, or our ears to the consolatory sugges- 
tions of Christian friendship. By excluding friends, 

(5) 



6 • PREFACE. 

we often debar ourselves from much valuable 
consolation — vrhile by bidding them welcome we 
ofttimes " entertain angels unawares." 

We do well to weep in affliction, but not to 
abide in the "wells of weeping." We should 
go upon the Mount of Vision daily, that we may 
see the field of duty spread out before us, and 
may learn how to honor God and bless our race^ 
even when smarting under the rod. Afflictions 
certainly fail to accomplish what God intends 
when they lead us to wrap ourselves up in selfish 
sorrow, and neglect to perform what Providence 
indicates as our duty, in the constant and ener- 
getic discharge of our regular calling. 

Affliction does us good when it burns off the 
dross, and burnishes the gold for present use and 
beauty. " Our sorrow becomes excessive when 
it withdraws the heart from God ,• when it drives 
us from the path of ordinary duty ) when it de- 
stroys our enjoyment of the comforts which re- 
main; when it impairs our sympathy with the 
griefs or joys of others ; when it checks us in 
prayer, or in the exercises of faith, and love, and 
gratitude to our God and Saviour. Such feelings 
of grief are evidently immoderate, and '■ such sor- 
row worketh death.' " 

The "Wells of Baca" is happily adapted 
to minister consolation to bruised and bleeding 



PREFACE. 7 

hearts. It frankly admits the extent and depth of 
their sorrow, and tolerates a comparison between 
their past and present condition; it unfolds the 
nature of atfliction, its source, and intent, and 
legitimate effect; while the furnace is exposed 
to view, the true solace is plainly pointed out, 
and the believer's crown is made to shine in Gos- 
pel purity and brilliancy. 

This little volume has already afforded comfort 
to many sorrowing hearts, and has shown where 
alone the aching heads of God's afflicted children 
may find rest and ease. It is republished at the 
request of one who derived comfort from its peru- 
sal, and desired that it might be reprinted, that she 
might give a copy to her afflicted friends. May 
she — though now dead — be enabled by this 
little volume to address words of consolation to 
many stricken hearts. 

w. 

RoxBURY, December, 1853. 



God of the Mourner ! round whose awful 

Throne 
Peal the Hosannahs of the Heavenly Choir ! 
Vouchsafe, in love, a feebler note to own 
Of Earthly Minstrelsy ! Do Thou inspire 
The plaintive chords of an untutor'd Lyre, 
Touch'd with a trembling hand and tearful eye ; 
And if one borrow'd spark of sacred fire 
Should soothe a grief, or mitigate a sigh, 
The Glory all be Thine — Thou Triune Deity ! 

(8) 



€^t Cnntrasl 



Who can unfold the secrets of the heart 

Torn with bereavement ? Sacred pangs are there 

With which a stranger dare not intermeddlOj 

Too sad for utterance^ too deep for tears ! 

Oh ! how one blow can metamorphose life ; 

Transmute into the saddest what was once 

The happiest home, and open bleeding wounds 

Which Heaven alone can medicate ! The Past ! 

What volumes that emphatic word contains 

Of tender recollections ! hallow'd hours, — 

Soothing life's sorrows — sweetening its joys. 

The Future ! Once the calendar of bliss, 

Its firmament bedeck'd with lustrous stars 

Of brilliant promise, suddenly eclipsed ; 

Now treasuring in desolate perspective 

Ills hitherto undreaded. Hear the verdict 

Of the Bereaved spirit, on a World 

Invested once with many nameless charms, 

But now so sadly alter'd : — '• That bright sun 

(9) 



10 THE CONTRAST. 

May shine as brightly as it did before — 

Its light seems dim to me ! Those emerald fields, 

And crested hills, and undulating slopes. 

The shady groves, and softly-murmuring streams, 

Where once, with joyous steps, I loved to rove, 

A thousand scenes and images recall , 

Of happier hours irrevocably gone ] 

While faithful memory (sad chronicler 

Of bygone bliss) invests the retrospect 

With all but living truth. The melody 

Of cherish'd voices seems to linger there ; 

Each sylvan footpath has its tear to claim, 

And tale of buried love. Each rivulet 

Warbles the music of some fond delights 

Ne'er to return again. Once how I loved 

To mark the changing year ! each varying season 

Revolving bliss. The winter's blazing hearth. 

When the wild storm was revelling without, 

Endearing all the more a cheiSsh'd home. 

But now in vain it wastes its crackling mirth 

On the lone heart. More apposite appears 

That sweeping tempest, rioting at will, 

Wing'd with the thunder — in its wild career 

Bearinof destruction — Nature's bosom strewn 



THE CONTRAST. H 

With trophies of its might. And yet, methinks, 
Its burden'd sighs and moanings seem to lend 
The broken heart a sympathy, which oft 
A cold and selfish world denies ! Or, when 
The waning season's dev^astating blasts 
Of rude continuance, made the eye to long 
For the return of spring, how once I loved 
To watch the footsteps of the new-born year ! 
The Earth (long sepulchred) emerging from 
The Grave of Winter, and her winding-sheet 
Of snow exchanging, to be deck'd anew 
In emerald robes of renovated life. 
The warbling choristers of wood and grove 
That sung so late their plaintive Elegies, 
As if Chief- Mourners o'er her Tomb, again 
Vocal with praise ! Ah ! sadly, strangely sounds 
To the bereaved heart such symphony ! 
These tuneless melodies by hill and dale, 
Of pensive sorrow latent chords awake, 
Which make the bosom powerless to respond 
To Nature's joy ! Where is the voice whose music 
Was more to me than all the world beside ? 
The noonday sun his dazzling lustre pours, 
These winged choristers now tune their notes 



12 THE CONTRAST. 

Around that Grave ! The bursting loveliness 

Of the incipient year, seems but to mock 

The desolated spirit, which is destined 

To know no spring-time. Universal nature 

Starts from her slumber. But there is one sleep 

Too deep to be disturb'd. One Ear remains 

Closed to the summons! While th' imprison'd 

Earth 
Bursts from her wintry dungeon, where the storm 
And tempest (gloomy warders) guarded her, 
This stern Custodier of captive millions 
Alone denies surrender ! Spring may clothe 
The Churchyard's sacred sod v/ith fresher verdure^ 
Or lend her glistening dews (expressive tear-drops) 
To mingle their mute sympathy, and wail 
Life's tender blossoms blighted in the bud ; 
But her reanimating voice in vain 
Evokes the ashes slumbering underneath ! 

" Oh ! happy peasant ! When thy daily task 
Of weary toil is over, how I envy 
Thy cheerful step and artless rustic strains, 
(Faithful exponents!) oft, as homewards tending, 
On Summer eve, to meet the joyous welcome 



THE CONTRAST. 13 

To affluence oft denied — the mirthful glee 

Of an unbroken circle — word unknown 

In many a lordly hall and proud demesne." 

But hush these plaintive musings — all thy tears 
Cannot weep back the buried ! True, at times 
Nature expression to her brooding grief 
Must be permitted. Cold indeed the heart 
That would presume the tribute to refuse 
Of friendship's tenderness to friendship's worth, 
And libel it unmanliness to mourn ! 
There is a sacred luxury in tears 
None but the lacerated bosom knows. 
If Stoical philosophy forbid 
Their gentle flow, go mark at Bethany 
The wondrous tear-drops of the Man of Sorrows. 
Mourner, be this thy warrant, " Jesus Wept ! " 

Yet be it thine to check superfluous grief; 
And, if the pensive spirit love to linger 
On treasured recollections, waste not thoughts, 
Indulge not vain regrets, on happiness 
Beyond recall ; but read emphatic lessons 
(For ever reading, yet how hard to learn !) 



14 THE CONTRAST. 

On Earth's delusive pleasures^ — airy bubbles 
Dancing their little moment on the stream, 
Then vanishing for ever; — plants which fade 
(Like the recorded gourd of Nineveh) 
Just vsrhen most needed ', breeding their own worm, 
And, in their freshness, yielding to decay ! 

Go ! estimate amid the humbling wrecks 
Of broken cisterns and of blighted joys, 
The worth of the vain world which has deceived 

thee. 
Strange, that it should so long with Siren voice 
Have lullaby'd thy spirit, weaving dreams 
Of visionary bliss around thy path, — 
Baseless enchantments, ne'er to know fruition ! 
The World! 'Tis but a synonyme for change. 
As well recline thy head upon the surge. 
The ever- varying billow. Like the Dove 
Which, of old, track'd a wilderness of waves, 
With weary pinion and with wailing cry, 
Roaming the waste to find a leafy bough 
Whereon to set its foot ; so does the Soul 
(Pluming immortal pinions for the flight) 
Traverse the world's tumultuous sea in vain 



THE CONTRAST. 15 

To find a resting-place — " It findeth none ! " 

Life is one scene of Tempest ! There may be 

Lulls in the sweeping storm — the alternations 

Of cloud and sunshine ; but no more than gleams : 

Not the true lustre of the fixed star; 

Rather the fitful meteoric glare, 

One moment dazzling with its lurid light, 

The next all dark, and, by the power of contrast, 

Darkness more sensible ! E'en when the cup 

Of life is fullest, is it not enough 

To mar its brightest hour of festive joy 

(As did the characters of living fire, 

Which gleam'd of old amid the revelries 

Of Chaldee's lords) — the possibility 

That Death may soon, the certainty he must 

At some time come, and write his Mene Tekel 

Upon the clay-built walls 1 The tie to life 

How frail ! There is, between us and the grave, 

Nought but a breath ! To-day the bark may spread 

Her canvas to the gale ; all may presage 

A prosp'rous voyage, fann'd by gentle zephyrs. 

One creaking plank the morrow may reveal ! 

Seal'd is her doom ; the starting timber yields, 

And down she sinks into the eddying w^ave, 



16 THE CON TK AST. 

A shatter'd wreck ! Oh ! whither shall we ffee, 

^Mid the convulsion of these thick'ning storms 

(This heaving ocean of vicissitude), 

To find some quiet haven of repose 

Safe from the tempest shock ? Lo ! from an Ark, 

Riding triumphant o'er the angry deep, 

Accents of love proceed ! It is the voice 

Of an unchanging God, changeless alone 

Amid all change ! Oh, blessed hiding-place ! 

As louder raged the hurricane of old. 

And mightier was the flow of gushing waters 

On a submerged Earth, the higher rose 

Upon the bosom of the foaming surge, 

Proof to the roar of elemental war. 

The Patriarch's ark ; so. Christian Mourner ! safe 

Within thy Cov'nant Shelter, wave on wave 

May roll successive over thee, as if 

The rifled fountains of the deep were suffer'd 

To riot at their pleasure ; but each billow 

Uplifts thee farther from the Shores of Time 

Nearer thy God ; and as behind thou leav'st 

A devastated Earth, Faith elevates 

Above the wrecks of sublunary bliss, 



Cljt llftrnspert. 



Oh ! selfish tears ! who would unglorify 
The Sainted Pilgrim ? His unruffled bliss 
Disturbj and pluck the crown from off his brow, 

To bring him back to earth ? ^' We sorrow not 

As those who have no hope." — Fallen he has 
" Asleep in Jesus ! •' pillow'd on the bosom 
Of uncreated Love ! basking for ever 
Beneath the sunshine of Jehovah's smile. 
Sorrows all ended — wiped from every eye 
The ling' ring tear-drop — immortality 
Begun ; a golden harp, and sparkling crown, 
And palm unfading ; with Immanuel's praise 
The tongue seraphic — (ever-deep'ning anthems 
Of which imagination cannot catch 
The distant echo !) Shall the selfishness 
Of earthly sorrow interrupt that song, 
Or break that holy rest '? " Asleep in Jesus ! " 
(What music in the words !) Hark to the strain 
In gentle cadence stealing from the skies : — 
2 (17) 



18 THE RETROSPECT. 

" Mourners ! why shed for me mistaken tears ? 
If ye did love me, ye would now rejoice, 
Because I said, I go unto my Father ! " 

Wondrous transition in life's closing hour ! 
The burden'd Pilgrim of his Cross released, 
And carried to his Crown ! Upon a world 
Of woe, Earth's curtain falling, to arise 
Anew on realms of glory ! Who, with heart 
Unmoved, can gaze upon the solemn scene 
Of nature's dissolution ? Who forget 
Those moments — more like hours — of dread 

suspense. 
When, seated with a bursting tide of anguish 
By the toss'd pillow of some loved one's couch, 
Watching the herald symptoms of the tomb 
Fast gathering around ! The Lamp of Life 
Is feebly flickering ; upon the brink 
Of a receding world the Spirit hovers ; 
The sand-glass hastens to its final- grain! 
'Tis the last struggle ! Yet, oh ! can it be 1 
Nature recoils from the sad inference ! 
Fallacious hope still clings — but clings in vain — 
To every beat of the exhausted pulse ! 



THE EETROSPECT. 19 

It is — it is too true ! The conflict's o'er 

Mourner ! that moment's pang of agony- 
Tongue ne'er can tell^ when call'd, with trembling 

lips, 
A sad farewell to lisp ! thy spirit lone 
Drifting on life's rude sea a shatter'd wreck ! 

Yet tell me what thy spirit first assuaged, 
When the fresh torrent of thy grief had spent 
Its rolling' tears ? Say, was it not to soar 
Upon the wings of faith, and hear the voice — 
Silent on earth — uniting in the songs 
Of Heav'n? That Saint has wept his final tear — 
Heaved his last pang ! — Earth's closing draught 

of sorrow 
Has been exhausted ; open'd have these eyes 
Upon the glories of a tearless world ! 
The ear insensible to earthly sounds 
Has caught celestial melody, and Death 
Has proved the harbinger of endless bliss, — 
The Birthday of Eternity ! The hour 
Which marks the close of his existence here, 
In truth, the Christian's life (as charter'd heir 
And denizen of Immortality), 



20 THE RETROSPECT. 

Begins. And if we festive keep the day 
Of the frail body's entrance into life, 
And earthly friends are gather'd in to offer 
Their joyous gratulations, shall it be 
With tears we celebrate the natal hour 
Of the undying spirit, entering 
A Sinless, Deathless, Sorrowless for-ever? 

Earth may indulge in tears, but Heaven has 
none. 
The doleful sackcloth'd chamber may resound 
With lamentation ; but that sad farewell 
Has waken'd up a Jubilee on high ; 
And the glad accents burst from every tongue : — 
" Welcome an heir of Immortality ! " 

Bereaved Mother ! mourning o'er the loss 
Of a departed child, — a Flower soon pluck'd 
(But not too soon for glory), which distill'd 
Celestial fragrance on thy path below. 
Weep not ! but let thy envied boast be this, — 
" 1 am the parent of a ransom'd Saint ! " 
Bright Beacon-light, set on the Heavenly shore. 
To which in many a deep, dark night of sorrow, 



THE KETKOSPECT. 21 

Oft thou may'st turn thine eye ; its hallow'd 

radiance 
Cheering thy shatter'd bark across the waves 
Betwixt thee intervening and the haven 
Of thine eternal rest ! Thrice sacred tie ! 
That Spirit, which delighted while on earth, 
Like the magnetic needle to its pole, 
To point thee oft to Jesus, still directs 
To the same glorious Source of heavenly love, 
Of joy in sorrow, victory in death ! 
Oh ! is it no incentive when thou think'st 
That in the lustrous crowd of Witnesses 
Which line the battlements on high, are those 
Who lighted once with their perennial smile 
This wilderness — still from their lofty seats, 
Stooping to woo us with their crowns of bliss ? 
The Bride says, "Come!" — A sweetly-mingled 

voice 
Of sainted Parents — Brothers, Sisters — Friends, 
Stealing in holy music from the skies 
(In the soft whispers of celestial love). 
And telling, though they " cannot come to us," 
There is a meeting-place in brighter climes. 
Which knows no parting ! 



22 THE RETROSPECT. 

To that ransom' d one, 
The ''why" and "wherefore" of God's mystic 

dealings, 
Already is unfolded : That which clothed 
An earthly home in sadness, will to him 
Radiant be now with cov'nant love ; great ends 
And righteous purposes therein reveaPd, 
Almost by intuition, which will give 
New matter and new theme for endless praise ! 
While we, short-sighted mortals, " through a glass 
Darkly beholding," often thus exclaim : 
" Great God ! thy judgments are a mighty deep ! " 
Oh ! as the glorified behold His ways 
Seen in the Mirror of Eternity, 
It is the golden harp with bolder hand 
To sweep, and swell the chorus of the Skies, 
"All Holy! Holy! Holy! is the Lord ! " 

But if the Spirit's blessedness be such. 
What of the body? — mortal tenement 
(Mortal and frail), yet loved — oh ! yes, how loved ! 
Each feature pencill'd as with living light 
On the Soul's tablets ineffaceable. 
Smiles that can never die ! Say, can it be 



THE KETROSPECT. 23 

That all now left of these is memory ? 

Say, as thou stood'st amid the crowd of Mourners 

Around the silent grave, busied each eye 

Writing with tears a deeper epitaph 

Than human hand e'er wrote or chisel traced J 

When the descending earth (as if it join'd 

With hollow voice to chaunt the requiem) 

Drew the dull echo from the coffin-lid. 

Proclaiming that the '' dust had now return'd 

To dust ! " Say, was that death-sound a farewell 

That closed your eyes for ever on the fonn 

You cherish'd once so fondly? — God forbid ! 

That crumbling framework crumbles but to live! 

Immanuel's blood, which bought the Soul, has paid 

The ransom of the body. Does not faith 

The startling notes anticipate, — the trump 

Which is to wake the echoes of the world, 

And from their mansions, mould'ring in cold clay, 

Evoke the slumb'ring myriads ? The dust 

Of ages lives ! '^ With Immortality 

The mortal's clothed," and " swallow'd up is Death 

In Victory ! " The Body "sZeeps," yet not 

In an eternal night — (cheerless extinction 

That knows no morn !) — But like the chrysalis 



24 THE RETROSPECT. 

Lying embedded in its torpid shell. 

Escaping winter storms to burst anew 

With wings expanded in the glorious light 

Of an unclouded Summer; from the flowers 

Which bloom unfading loveliness, to cull 

Immortal fragrance ! Say not, then, that o'er 

The dying moments of thy Friend was wept 

A last adieu, and that the heavy word 

" Farewell ! " was burden'd with the awful 

thought, — 
" This parting is for everP Say not, there 
Thou didst receive the closing look of love ; 
And that the grasp whic"h told of an affection 
Death could not quench, was to be felt no more ! 
No ! for these clay-cold lips with deathless smiles 
Shall be relighted, and these rayless eyes ! 
And with a glorious similitude 
Each feature shall remind thee of earth's love, 
With this distinction, that they cannot fade ! 
Thine ears, once more, shall listen to the voice 
Wliose music soothed thee oft below, attuned 
For higher themes and loftier minstrelsy ; 
Hand link'd in hand, climbing the upward steep 
Of Zion hill, with mutual joy recounting 



THE RETROSPECT. 25 

Jehovah's dealings, since the day which sever'd 
Earth's bonds of love. But, oh ! the rapt'rous bliss, 
To think these bonds can now no more be broken ! 
Exulting in espousals which can know 
No dissolution ; underneath the throne 
Bathed in the full-orb'd glory of your God ! 

I love to think of this identity 
Between the Saint on earth and Saint in heaven. 
That soul and body (only glorified 
And liberate from sin) shall rise the same 
As once they moved while here ! Each holy trait 
Which may adorn the character below, — 
The tenderness and love of guileless nature, — 
Shall not be lost, but made susceptible 
Of infinite progression, shall attain 
Their full development. That sacred glow 
Of sensibility which shed on earth 
A halo round the spirit: — warm emotions. 
Once lavished on the creature of a day, — 
Shall with increasing fervour gravitate 
Towards the great Creator ! Intellect 
With energies immortal, fathoming 
Perfections infinite — Redeeming Love ! 
Uniting in the anthem-peal, whose thunders 



26 THE EETKOSPECT. 

Ten thousand times ten thousand voices swell, 
" Worthy the Lamb ! " 

Repose, then, Precious clay ! 
Thou art in safer custody than mine, 
The purchase of atoning blood ! What though 
The sods of earth now cover thee, and rage 
The elements around thee ? Angels watch 
The sleeping dust ; nay, more. Omnipotence 
Is th' invisible Guardian of thy tomb ! 
Jesus ! The Mighty Conqueror of Death, 
Who felt its pow'r and pluck'd its sting away. 
Drying our tears, addresses us in words 
Which glow with immortality : " Fear not ! 
For I am He that liveth and was dead, 
Behold ! I am alive forevermore ; 
And in my hand retain the Keys of Death ! " 
Then looking forward through the dim perspective 
Of this dark Vale of weeping, let the eye 
Rest on the splendours of that cloudless morn. 
When the Archangel's pealing notes shall startle 
A slurab'ring earth ; the Sea and Land restore 
At the loud summons what they hold in trust, 
And o'er a renovated world resound 
The paeans of Eternal Victory ! 



Cfie Mm nf Inrrnms, 



Oh ! Blessed Solace ! 'Tis a Father's rod — 
No rod of wrath, but of unchanging love. 
No stroke inflicted which He could have spared ! 
Infinite Wisdom has with Love combined 
To make the blow accomplish — and no more — 
Its salutary End. A Father^ rod ! 
The thought represses ev'ry falling tear, 
Checks ev'ry murmur, mitigates each pang. 
Unerring parent ! — Mourner ! can you doubt 
His Faithfulness '? Then look to Calvary ! 
Behold that bleeding, dying Lamb of God ! 
'Twas love for Thee that sent Him from His 

throne, 
The bosom of Paternal love (whereon 
His head was pillow'd from Eternity), 
And nail'd Him there ! ' Twas love for thee evoked 
The fearful summons from the lips of Justice : 
"Awake, sword ! " and the avenging weapon 
Refused to slumber in its sheath, till drench'd 

(27) 



28 THE MAN OF SORROWS. 

In blood to which Divinity gave worth ! 
Omnipotence Itself (to speak with awe) 
Couldj of supreme affection, give no pledge 
Higher than this. And dare we entertain 
The thought, that He, whose nature and whose 

name 
Is Love, — could send us one superfluous pang, 
Impose a needless burden, or permit 
The thorn to pierce. He knew would pierce in 

vain? 
That Cross becomes the blessed guarantee 
That all is needed ! Mercy infinite 
Prevents one drop front mingling in the cup 
Which could have been withheld. Thou God of 

Love ! 
Vouchsafe us grace to bow beneath Thy Rod ; 
And breathe (although it be through burning 

tears. 
And half-choked utterance) — " Thy will be done ! " 
" Even so. Father ! for it seemeth good 
To Thee ! " — And, oh ! forbid that whatsoe'er 
Thy Wisdom may appoint, should from our hearts 
Draw one repining or rebellious sigh. 
" I will be dumb, and open not my mouth, 



THE MAN OF SOKROWS. 29 

Because Thou didst it! " — and it must be well ^ — 
"Although Thou slay me, yet I'll trust in Thee ! " 

Oh ! Holy Man of Sorrows ! dare I breathe 
One murmuring sentence"? What this Cross of 

mine 
Beside that Cross Thou didst endure for me? 
A few brief tears and transient sufferings 
Compose my &um of trials ; but Thy woes 
Claim, as exponents. Mighty drops of Blood ! 
Unanswerable challenge from the lips 
Of the Almightiest of all Sufferers, 
'• Was ever any sorrow like to Mine ? " 
Afflicted Mourner ! bitter though the cup 
Which thou art call'd to drink — "consider Him" 
Who drain'd the wine-cup of His Father's wrath ; 
Whilst from His anguish'd Soul was wrung the cry 
Which robed the Sun in sackcloth, and made Earth 
Affrighted heave convulsive to her core, 
As if her pillars trembled to support 
The Cross where hung her Maker ! What are 
The complex suff 'rings of a suffering world ? 
Dust in the balance when compared to this ! 
Mournful howe'er thy history, although 



30 THE MAN OF SORROWS. 

'Tis written (like the plaintive prophet's roll) 
In characters of mourning and of woe, 
Telling of rifled households — aching hearts — 
The tear scarce dried when calPd to flow again ; — 
Yet, what thy gloomiest seasons, when compared 
With the Cimmerian darkness which 'impalPd 
His agonised bosopa? — when the Sun 
Of Deity was shrouded in eclipse, 
And hid the countenance which from Eternity 
Beam'd love ineffable ! Oh, Child of God ! 
Ne'er can there issue from thy quiv'ring lips 
The anguish'd cry which once arose from His — 
"71% God! why thus h-ast Thou forsaken Me 1 " 

Yes, Mourner ! thou hast still thy Covenant God. 
Die whoe'er may, He lives! — That thought is 

bliss ! 
Amid the ruins of thine Earthly joys. 
This portion still survives — Omnipotence ! 
And surely, with a portion such as this. 
Thou need'st no other ! Blessed compensation ! 
When the Eternal God the cistern shivers. 
That He, the blessed Fountain-head, may come 
To take its place, and be the " All in all ! " 



THE MAN OF SOKEOWS. 31 

Behold^ there sits upon the throne of Heaven 
A sympathising " Kinsman ! " Not a pang 
Can rend thy bosom, but He felt the same ! 
In all thy sufferings, think that "■ Jesus suffer'd ! '' 
In all thy tears, remember '^' Jesus Wept ! " 
Rejoice — the pulses of that Mighty lleart 
Upwards in glory, vibrate to thine own 
Responsive : and though inaccessible 
He sits enthroned, and myriad ransom'd ones. 
Casting their blood-bought crowns before His feet, 
Swell the loud anthem, '• Worthy is the Lamb ! " 
Yet undergoes no change that Heart of Love, 
Nor, 'mid the blaze of glory, can forget 
One Pilgrim Sufferer ! Those eyes that shed 
O'er human grave a flood of human tears. 
Still look with pity on this desert world; 
And Bethany's Chief IMourner still is thine ! 

Go ! search the catalogue of human vroes. 
And say what Cross there can be laid on thee, 
The Man of Sorrows felt not? Calumny — 
Reproach — Ingratitude — the death of loved — 
The treachery of trusted followers — 
Faithless desertion of His tried disciples, 



32 THE MAN OF SORROWS. 

When needed most. Behold Him forced to beg 

A cup of Water from the profligate 

He ransom'd with His blood ! See Poverty 

His only birthright ! Houseless wanderer ! 

Oft His unpillow'd head denied repose. 

While foxes had their holes — the 'birds their 

nests — 
Oft was the mount His home, His couch the sod, 
His canopy the Sky! — Behold His Soul, 
Bowing in anguish underneath a woe 
Tongue cannot tell, when o'er him burst a cloud 
Surcharged and blacken'd with His " Father's " 

wrath ! 
Behold Him nail'd in anguish to the Tree ! 
Mark the convulsive throb — the closing eye — 
The quiv'ring lip — and the expiring groan ! 
Messiah dies ! — Is not the hour of death 
Thus sanctified by Death's great Conqueror, 
Who, as he vanquish'd, felt Himself the sting 
He died to pluck away ? Who, then, can dread 
To meet the foe their Lord hath overcome ? 
Who on the willows of the grave can hang 
His Harp disconsolate ? Tuned are its chords 
By this Almighty Sufferer, to words 



THE MAN OF SORROWS. 33 

Whose sweetest melody in this consists, 

That He that path has trod ! — " Yea, though 

the Vale 
Of death alone I tread — (yet not alone, 
For Thou art with me) — I shall fear no ill; 
Thy rod and staff shall comfort me ! " 

I love 
To think, as King of kings, upon the Throne 
Of Universal Empire seated is 
The God-Man Mediator ! — With the Roll 
Of Mystic Providence committed safe 
Into HIS hands ! In all His vast domain 
Nothing too great to be beyond His sway, 
Nothing too mean to be beneath His care ! 
vVhile it is He who wheels in realms of ether 
Worlds upon worlds ; gives to the wand'ring 

comet 
Its tortuous course, tracking immensity. 
In cycles measuring a thousand years ; 
'Tis He who "feeds the ravens w^hen they cry,'* 
Pencils the hue of ev'ry desert flower ; 
Its summer verdure upon ev'ry blade 
Of grass bestows ; of ev'ry forest leaf 
3 



34 THE MAN OF SORROWS. 

The fall He watches ; and of ev'ry pulse 

He marks the beat ! The swarming myriads 

In boundless space each movement owe to Him, 

From the small insect fluttering in the breeze. 

Up to the waving of the Angels' wings 

Before the Throne ! Away ! ye votaries 

That raise your altar to an " Unknown God ! " 

Ye deify as Chance and Accident^ 

And call His will " inexorable fate ! " 

There is no chance-work in the oracle 

Of Righteous Heaven ! — Each high behest comes 

forth 
The Ordination and Stipreme decree 
Of Wisdom, Love, and Mercy infinite ! 
The Parent mourns his Child's untimely end 
With aching heart ; — the idol of his bosom 
Snatch'd from him in the twinkling of an eye ! 
Was it the lightning-flash that struck him down? 
Traced was the lightning's winged path by God ! 
Was it the waves engulph'd him ? Every billow 
RolPd at the bidding of Omnipotence ! 
Was it disease that hurried him away ? 
The worm unseen which sapp'd the treasured 

gourd, 



THE MAN OF SORROWS. 35 

Was sent by Him ! This is the history 

Of every death : " The sufFering God ordain'd — 

Prepared the sable shroud — and dug the grave ! " 

Our times are in His hands, and at the hour 

He thinks befitting, but no sooner, He 

Our Breath recalls. — 'Tis His prerogative 

To do with us and ours as pleaseth Him ; 

We could not be in safer custody. 

Jesus our Shepherd ! — 'choosing us our pasture, 

Selecting with unerring faithfulness 

And tender love, for each their earthly lot. 

Left to ourselves, how oft might we incline 

To choose the evil and refuse the good ! 

Christian ! rejoice that though His way may seem 

Often mysterious, as He led His Saints 

Of old. He leads thee still, in faithfulness. 

Trust Him in darkness ! He will vindicate 

All his procedure, and receive at last 

The homage from ten thousand thousand tongues, 

" Righteous art Thou ! Lord ! " 

Exalted Jesus I 
Wielding Creation's sceptre, unto whom 
Can I commit my everlasting all, 



36 THE MAN OF SORROWS. 

If not to Thee 1 How wondrously uniting 

Divinity with Human tenderness I 

While myriad Angels from Eternity 

Adored Thee, fearless in Thine arms there smiled 

The helpless Babe ! Amid a varying world, 

Thyself alone continuing unchanged ; ' 

Among the faithless, Faithful to the last ! 

" Thou^ for Adversity the Brother born," 

'' The Friend that cleaveth closer than a Brother ! " 

His not a formal world's cold interchange 

Of sympathy (unworthy of the name) ; 

Into our every sorrow He can enter 

With sensibilities none else can feel. 

Oh ! blessed thought ! Immanuel's heart combines 

The Might of Godhead with Humanity 

In all its tenderness. The God who counts 

The number of the stars, can also count 

The number of my sorrows, for Himself 

Has felt them all ! The mightiest of all Beings 

Is thus the kindest ! I can upwards look 

In trembling transport to His throne, and say, 

" God ! yet my Brother ! Brother ! yet my God ! " 



CjiE (Bml 



God is a Jealous God, and cannot give 

His Glory to another ! Earthly love 

Must be subordinate to that of Heaven, 

Or else must die ! The throne of the affections 

Must be surrender'd to the King of kings, 

And can admit no rival occupant ; 

Omnipotence must legislate supreme. 

And be the All in All ! The earthly Gourd 

It is permitted thee to cherish fondly, 

But not too fondly ; — to be glad for it; 

But warning accents from the blighted booth 

Of Nineveh, forbid thee to be glad 

" Exceedingly." If treasured as the pledge 

Of thy Creator's love, then all is well ; 

The boon attains the end for which bestow'd,— 

The Giver glorified ! But when it tends 

(37) 



38 THE GOURD. 

To alienate affections which are His, 
SeaPd is its doom, and bows the cumberer 
Before the winged sentence, " Cut it down ! " 
How oft, in one brief day, the canker-worm 
Has thus perform'd its work, and round the bower 
Of earthly bliss lie strewn the sad rebukes 
Of overweening love — the wither'd blossoms 
Cherish'd too fondly ! Traitor to thy trust ! 
Thou didst receive thy Gourd to draw thee 

upwards ; 
It wedded thee to earth, and therefore fell ! 
Thou must be taught by the severest lessons, 
That God permits of no competing love : — 
"The idol must be utterly abolish'd ! '' 

How many bleeding bosoms have been open'd 
By these clay-idols, Dagons that must fall 
Before the ark ! Unless we rather choose 
(Fearful alternative !) that God give place 
To these our Dagons, and thus forfeit Heav'n 
For some poor child of dust. Christian ! rejoice. 
That the decision of this question lies 
Not with thyself; or else, alas ! how oft 
Imperishable interests would be made 



THE GOURD. 39 

Do homage at some shrine of creature-love ! — ■ 
The altar kiss of some clay-deity,- 
And barter immortality for Time ! 

Thy Gourd has fallen ! Yet had its kindly shade 
Been spared for future years to bless thy bower, 
It would have lived but only to decay. 
Those bursting buds and blossoms, early pluck'd 
(Say not too early), would at last have dropp'd 
As wither'd flowers. Let the Great Husbandman 
Select the time to take His own ; and if 
For transplantation He may deem it fit. 
Before the chilling frosts of life have nipp'd it, 
Would'st thou retain it longer in the blasts 
Of an ungenial clime 1 Be thine to praise Him, 
That, in selecting for the severing blow. 
He took the ripest for Himself. The tree 
Mark'd for the axe was not the cumberer — 
The leafless, fruitless, unproductive one, 
Fit fuel for the fire : No, — It is spared 
(In mercy spared), to see if, peradventure, 
The sharp incisions of the pruning-knife 
May fructify its boughs. 'Tis the exotic 
Which has been taken to a kindlier soil, 



40 THE GOUKD. 

To bloom unfading in far happier climes, 
Where tempest is unknown ! Think of the storms 
That tender sapling has in love been saved ; 
Although, perchance, unfretted with a cloud 
Up to the hour it fell ; who could predict 
What might be brooding in the far horizon, — 
What travailings and sorrows might be pent 
Within the womb of Time ? Who could foretell 
That ere to-morrow's sun had run his race, 
Some hurricane, now slumb'ring, forth might 

speed 
In giant might, its footsteps track'd Mdth woe, 
Blighting all loveliness"; reminding us 
That cloudless sunshine trusted cannot be 
On this side Heav'n ? 

Then w^eep not ; but alike 
Adore a "taking" and a "giving" God. 
Deem not these blossoms prematurely pluck'd. 
Let those who make this fleeting earth their all, 
And its horizon bound their happiness, 
Talk of untimely Graves ! No flower can drop 
Too soon, if ripe for glory. Early pluck'd. 
Is early bliss. If the great clock of time 



THE GOUKD. 41 

Has in life's dawn of morning toll'd its knell, 
And number'd earthly hours, it hastens Heaven. 
An early death-bed is an early Crown ! 
Now unfulfilPd one wish alone remains, — 
That those beloved on earth, endeard by bonds 
Defying dissolution, left behind 
To rough the winter's blast, may soon arise, 
The deathless glory of the soul to share, 
" Not lost, but gone before." 

Often methinks 
Upon the striking contrast in the way 
That Earth and Heaven the closing scene of death 
Regard. On Earth, — a spectacle of tears ! 
Bedew'd each cheek, and swollen every eye; 
In speechless agony, each knee is bent 
Round the saint's couch, importunate for life. 
While still life's pulses beat. In Heaven, — a 

prayer 
Is utter'd also for the dying one 
By mightier than mortal Intercessor ; 
Immanuel pleads ; but His is not the prayer 
For an extension of the transient breath ; 
He pleads for life immortal as His own. 



42 THE GOURD. 

While from below ascend the burden'd sighs 

Of weeping relatives, 'tis thus He prays. : 

" Father, I will ! " (Oh ! blessed thought ! it is 

The will of dying, ever-living love ! 

Who would not trust it, if they cannot trace?) 

'' Father, I will this dying sufferer 

I have redeem'd, be with Me where I am. 

To share the glory Thou hast given Me." 

The prayer is heard ! Omnipotence responds — 

"Son, Thou art ever with Me, all I have 

Is Thine." To execute the embassy. 

Eager, a glorious retinue attend. 

" Go, Angels, — speed ye to the dying pillow, 

And waft the spirit into Abraham's bosom !" 

Say, Mourner, wouldst thou have preferr'd that 
heard 
Had been the prayer of Earth, or that of Heaven ? 
Eternal bliss deferr'd, or realised ? 
The Cross continued, or the Kingdom won ? 
Warfare protracted, or eternal rest ? 
Keep in abeyance selfish love, and say 
Wouldst thou arrest these bright celestials, 
As up they bear their trophy to the skies, 



THE GOUED. 43 

And bring him back to earth'? Couldst thou 

entreat 
The Righteous Intercessor to revoke 
This wondrous "will," and at the gate of Heaven, 
When Victory was bursting on his lips, 
Recall the sainted Pilgrim, to resume 
The din of Battle, 5ind the Vale of Tears? 



€^t fimm. 



Your fiery trials, followers of Him 

Who was "the Man of Sorrows," deem not strange. 

" No Cross, no Crown ! " the motto still remains 

Of every Pilgrim ; and the oracle 

Of Heaven is unrepeal'd : — " Deny thyself, 

Take up thy Cross, and daily follow Me." 

'Tis in affliction's furnace, as of old, 

He loves to choose His people ', and although 

These desolating trials may appear 

To the unthinking crowd inexplicable, 

Like the mysterious column, whose red glow 

Illumed of old the desert wilderness 

To cov'nant Israel, but lent no ray 

Of guiding light to the pursuing hosts 

Of Egypt, — so before a wond'ring world, 

Mystic and dark, the dealings of our God 

Are bright with mercy to His chosen ones, 

(44) 



THE FURNACE. 45 

The emanations of eternal love. 

Yes ! Blessed Lord, Thy preciousness and grace 

Ne'er can the Christian estimate, till brought 

To taste the bitter cup of earthly sorrow. 

Thy Promises how wondrous ! Like the stars 

Sparkling as jewels on the brow of Night, 

Invisible until the orb of day 

Sinks in his couch. So not until the Sun 

Of fondly-treasured comforts disappear, 

The firmament of Truth a galaxy 

Displays of brilliant promises, which, like 

The glow-worm, shine most brightly in the dark. 

Bereaved Mourner ! call'd to take thy stand 
Amid the scorching flames, didst thou not see 
" One in the Furnace like the Son of God,'' 
Whose gracious presence caused thee pass un- 
scathed 
The fiery ordeal '? Approach'd, perchance, 
Trembling with awe, like those who '^fear'd to 

enter" 
The cloud on Tabor ; yet, on ent'ring it, 
What sights and sounds burst on their ravish'd 



46 THE FURNACE. 

A Glorified Redeemer! — vista-views 

Of bliss ! — each tongue exclaiming, " Lord, 'tis 

good 
For us to linger here ! " So oft when call'd 
To climb the Mount of Trial, hast thou not 
Refreshing hours enjoy'd, ev'n in the cloud 
That frown'd in terror o'er thee ? Did not here 
There burst on thee in bright apocalypse 
Resplendent visions of redeeming grace, 
The antepast of Heaven ; and made thee feel 
Almost in love with grief, because unfolding 
So much more of thy God 1 The countenance 
Of earthly relatives may be withdrawn, 
As was the voice of the twin delegates 
On Tabor's Mount ; but, like the '- Three," thou hast 
Thy Best Friend left. Dissolv'd though human ties, 
Jesus along with thee the Mount descends, 
Vouchsafing fellowship that knows no change, 
And love that cannot die (consoling words !) — 
" Lo ! ^ I am with you, to the end of Time ! ' " 

Fear thou not, then, this Furnace, for HE lights 

it; 
Not to destroy, but only to refine ; 



THE rUENACE. 47 

To purify the gold, and purge away 

The drossj and lit for glory. Wondrous thought ! 

The Great Refiner seated by the Fires, 

Temp'ring their fury ! Few amid the throng 

Of ransom'd spirits have not felt their power. 

Go upwards ; pass along their bright array, 

And let the Blood-bought myriads themselves 

Bear living testimony. One can tell : 

" Once was I ruining my precious Soul ; 

Eternity was bartered for the baubles 

Of a vain, transient world. God struck me down , 

Blighted my prospects, wither'd up my gourds, 

Laid my clay-idols in their mother dust, 

And O'er the precincts of a happy home 

Spread the eclipse of Death ! ' Deep calPd to 

deep.' 
Tear follow'd tear, as wave succeeds to wave ; 
But ' All is well.' Each trial did biit sever 
The earthly tie, to rivet me to Heaven — 
Shiver'd the reed, to bring me to the Rock, 
And give to God Himself the creature's place ! " 
Another one can tell : " I lov'd my Gold ; 
Deified Riches — made my idol Mammon: 
God wrote its Verdict : ' Gold which perisheth ! ' 



48 THE FUKNACE. 

It mock'd the hand which grasp'd it; but its loss 

Led me to value treasure which no time 

Corrodes, nor moth corrupts ; laid up in Christ 

'■ Riches unsearchable ' beyond the wealth 

Of worlds ! " Another there can tell : '^ The Sun 

Of Earth too brightly shone, and with false glow 

The lustre intercepted of a land 

Whose atmosphere is love. Upon a couch 

Of languishing God laid me ; weary days 

And nights of pain were mine. Now for each 

stroke 
I praise Him ! It was needful discipline — 
To wean my spirit from the shadow}'- dreams 
Of a vain world. The Harp which when on Earth, 
Broken with sorrow, hung upon the willows 
Tuneless and niute, I now rejoice to sweep 
Its new-strung chords, to own the faithfulness 
And love which wrung each tear-drop from my 



Exceptions rare there may, indeed, be found 
To this appointed discipline of Heaven. 
Some gentle spirit purified for bliss, 
Not in the Fire, but by the " still small voice " 



THE FUKNACE. 49 

for Immanuel's crown 
Prepared. Of old, when Salem's Temple rose 
In strange majestic silence, " neither hammer 
Nor sound of axe, nor other tool, was heard" 
Within the stately fabric : So at times 
The hammer of affliction scarce the stone 
May feel, and yet 'tis polish'd and made meet 
For the Great Builder's use; the spirit wafted, 
Like Israel's prophet in his car of fire, 
Upwards to glory, tasting scarce the pangs 
Of human woe ! Unwonted case ! to reach 
The heavenly goal uncover'd with the scars 
Of Earthly Battle ! Christian Combatant ! 
The conflict is unchanged. Who would the path 
Of suffering avoid his Saviour trod, 
Or claim immunity from woe. when HE 
Attain'd His crown with " garments roll'd in 
blood"'? 

Nowhere canst thou so magnify thy God 
As in the Furnace-fires ! Submissive tears 
Wrung from the grieved yet unrepining heart, 
In silent eloquence proclaim the power 



50 THE FURNACE. 

To an ungodly world, that Gospel peace 

Is no vague theory. Mourner in Zion ! 

In this thou hast a mean of glorifying 

The Lord who loved thee angels cannot have. 

Meek acquiescence is a grace unknown 

In Heav'n, where trial enters not. No cup 

Of anguish'd sorrow there to drink, no tears 

Through which with murmuring lips to breathe, 

'' Father, Thy will be done ! " Oh, may'st thou not 

(If thy submission has one Sinner led 

To magnify the grace which thee sustain'd 

So wondrously) with humble praise rejoice ? 

And, looking forward to Eternity, 

Would not thy sorest tribulations prove 

Their own best recompence, if, through the years 

Of never-ending bliss, one voice were heard 

To own that these thy Sorrows, sanctified, 

Had proved the means of leading it to Heaven ? 

Mine be the Cross, however hard to bear ! 
Oh, shall I not be willing to endure 
Whate'er my God sees meet 1 How many plants 
Before emitting fragrance must be bruised ? 
So must the soul. Endure I rather would ' 



THE FURNACE. 5J 

The sharpest cuttings of the pruning-knife — 
Be stripp'd of all I have, than '' left alone," 
Abandon'd Cumberer ! Yes, rather far 
Encounter fiercest hurricanes, than have 
The bark which bears immortal destinies 
Lull'd in the treacherous calm, and suffer'd there 
To sleep upon its shadows — fearful prelude 
To an eternal tempest ! Welcome storm 
Which sends the Christian Pilot to his knees, 
And, in a midnight of tempestuous gloom, 
Directs the eye of faith, with longing gaze, 
Upon the Star of Bethlehem ! 'Twas not 
Until the wind roused in tumultuous wrath 
Gennesaret, the faithless mariners 
Importunate awoke their sleeping Lord, 
And forth the fiat of Omnipotence 
LulPd every angry wave. Oh ! blessed end 
Of sanctified affliction • brought to call 
Upon our Heavenly Pilot, and to listen 
The Almighty Mandate, '- Peace ; be still ! " 

This reconciles to every tempest-shock : 
" Each crested billow wafts me nearer rest ! " 
Safe in that haven which no wave disturbs, 



62 THE FURNACE. 

The retrospect of life's disquietudes 

Will then unfold a "need be " in each stornij — 

Unmingled mercy in each falling tear. 

Yes, gracious, precious drops ! I grudge not one ; 

Dimming the eye to a dark land of Shadows, 

But bright with sunshine from a tearless world. 

Where the same gentle hand which made them 

flow 
In tenderness shall wipe them all away ! 

Then shall the lacerating thorn be weaved 
Amid the dearest laurels of my crown ; 
The brightest gem which sparkles there shall own 
Affliction's polish ; and th' Eternal Song 
Shall louder, deeper, and still deeper roll 
By reason of such sorrows, whose existence, 
Weigh'd in the Scales of Immortality, 
Shall then appear but light and momentary. 
And an amount of glory " working out," 
Beyond what " eye hath seen or heart conceived." 



€^t $nku. 



When through the desert's arid wastes of old 
Journey'd the tribes of Israel, with what strains 
Of gratitude the fainting thousands hail'd 
Ellin's twelve fountains ! Underneath the shade 
Of the umbrageous palm (Nature's own tent) 
They bathed their parched brows. From every 

tongue 
Arose the hymn of praise. The cloudy pillar 
Conducted once the parched host beside 
One brook less favour'd. Yet, though only one, 
Elim's twelve fountains often seem'd forgotten, 
While Marah linger'd in ungrateful hearts. 
Bereaved Christian ! has thy Covenant God 
Placed thee beside some Marah ; caused thee drink 
Some stream of earthly woe I Say, shall one draught 
Of bitter trial bury in oblivion 
The record of past mercies, — rill on rill 

(53) 



54 THE SOLACE. 

Of providential bounties which were made 

To cheer thy path ? Oh ! rather while thou sitt'st 

In solitary sadness brooding o'er 

Thy brook of Sorrow, let thy mem'ry dwell 

On the ten thousand wells of earthly bliss 

Which crowd life's retrospect : the EbenezerSj 

Each with its own inscription, testifying 

To God's unchanging faithfulness and mercy. 

Yes ; while thy Marah has been only one, 

Are not thine Elims many '? And instead 

Of wond'ring at His dealings, rather wonder 

The past should teem with pledges of such love 

All undeserved ! For if His thoughts had been 

As are thy thoughts, His ways as are thy ways, 

How different its annals ! Oh ! if sin 

Received its due, thy tears would never dry ; 

If justice had been laid unto the line, 

There had been weeping w^hich eternity 

Could ne'er have ended ! 

Hush'd, then, be thy grief. 
What, after all, the heaviest of thy pangs ? 
There might have beat within thy deathless spirit 
The pulse of Immortality undone, 



THE SOLACE. 55 

And thine awaking from the bed of death 
Have been in outer darkness ! Pause and think : 
Thou might'st have drunk the Marah of despair, 
The gall and wormwood mingling in its streams ! 
Fear not the Marah-fountain, which^ in love, 
Thy God appoints thee. As His pillar led 
The hosts of Israel thither, be assured, 
For some high purpose has He brought thee there. 
And if thou wouldst, like Israel, transmute 
From bitter into sweet this pool of sorrow, 
Cast in the Tree of Life ! Oh ! blessed antidote 
To every bitter cup and bitter hour ! 
Jesus ! one ray of Thine approving smile 
Can change the gloom of midnight into day, 
And make the gate of death the gate of Heaven ! 



Mourner, thine alter'd lot ? What ! has the scourge, 

The besom of destruction, left behind 

No earthly comfort to support the heart 

So rudely swept ? And art thou doom'd to sit 

Brooding disconsolate amid the dust 

And ashes of thy woe ? Nay ; while thou tunest 

Thy mournful Lyre to sing in plaintive strains 



56 THE SOLACE. 

Of Judgment, thou canst sing of Mercy too ! 
Ne'er does the heart, till wounded, prize its bless- 
ings. 
One rill has dried, one source (perchance the chief) 
Of earthly pleasure suddenly has faiPd ; 
But streams before unthought of, unobserved 
And unacknowledged, claim thy gratitude. 
While one beloved tie has been dissever'd, 
Are there not hallow'd friendships still surviving, 
To mitigate thy sorrows'? precious bonds, 
Approximating closer by each loss 
Of broken links ? Are there not many drops 
Of mercy mingled in "thy draught, enough 
To check each rising murmur, and to tell 
How much severer might have been thy pangs 
Had God so will'd ? Consider how He might 
Have mix'd the cup with anguish, far beyond 
The reach of tears — refusing sympathy! 
Ah ! there are speechless sorrows, cutting wounds, 
Too deep for solace ! — lacerated hearts 
Bleeding in secret over woes they dare not 
Confide to earthly ears ; and, worst of all, 
There is the heaviest of affliction's pangs. 
The pang of watching by the dying couch, 



THE SOLACE. 67 

At which you dare not feel " To die is gain." 

The hopes of Immortality proscribed ! 

The Spirit ent'ring the realities 

Of an undone eternity. Dread thought ! 

A thousand deaths (if the sweet sleep of Saints 

Can be. so called) is nothing to one such! 

Mourner in Zion, then, be comforted : 
Thou hast no cause to weep for the departed. 
Mourn not their loss; rejoice thou in their gainj 
For they are to be envied who have fallen 
"Asleep in Jesus." Earthly ties are broken, 
Only to draw thee nearer to the Skies, 
By everlasting cords of sacred love, 
Leading affection to associate 
Sweetly in thought a glorified Redeemer 
With those now at His side ! Repose on Him 
Who still vouchsafes unnumber'd benefits. 
The Hand that smites is able, too, to heal ; 
And in His very smiting there is all 
A Father's tenderness. Thy cup is still 
Full to the brim with blessings infinite ; 
" Double for all thy sins, thou hast received." 
Adore Him for the past, and for the future 



58 THE SOLACE. 

Cheerfully trust Him. Thou hadst but a loan; — 
No more ; and if the Great Proprietor 
Sees meet the boon He lent thee to recall, 
Becomes it thee to murmur? Rather own 
His mideserved kindness, that thou art 
Preserved from day to day, and hour to hour, 
The monument of God's forbearing love ; 
That He has not, ere now, pronounced against 

thee 
The Cumb'rer's sentence and his awful doom. 
With righteous vengeance, '^ Swearing in His 

wrath 
That thou shouldst never enter into Rest ! " 



€\)t Crnimr. 



Oh ! blessed Morn, Creation's Jubilee ! 
The Bridal hour of a triumphant Church I 
Birthday of endless glory ! when the roll 
Of earthly Providence shall be unfolded 
Before a wondTing Heaven; and ''in Thy light, 
God ! we shall see light." The Night of weeping 
Lost in the splendours of a perfect Day ! 
Floods of surpassing lustre pour'd upon 
Dealings inscrutable 1 The retrospect 
Of life's vicissitudes replete with love 
And cov'nant faithfulness. Each burden'd tear 
Acknowledged needful discipline ! The cloud 
Whose black'ning front portended while below 
Nothing but angry tempest, proved to be 
Surcharged alone with. mercy in disguise; 
The wheels of Providence revolving nought 
But good ! Each aspect of Jehovah's ways 
Causing the heart to bound with holier joy, 
The tongue to thrill with louder notes of praise— 

(59) 



60 THE CEOWN. 

An ever-deepening anthem ; like the song 
Heard by the Seer of Patmos ; as Eternity, 
With its unending ages onward rolls, 
The Hallelujah, syllabled in whispers, 
Increases to a deep harmonious swell — 
'^ The voice of many people ; " deeper still — 
Till, like " the sound of a Great Multitude ; " 
And yet still deeper — like the gushing noise 
" Of many waters ] " till the augmenting chorus 
Equals the roar of " mighty thunderings," 
And onward rolls the pealing "Alleluia! 
Amen ! Omnipotent Jehovah reigns ! " 

" There shall be No Night there ! " Oh, cheer- 
ing thought ! 
No night of Ignorance — which oft on Earth 
Gives birth to unbelief, and makes the heart 
Refuse to bow submissive to the Rod, 
And own its just infliction, because seen 
Through a distorted medium ! There shall be 
No night of Sorrow there; no bleeding hearts; 
No sudden blighting of life's fairest prospects : 
No chilling penury to freeze its bliss ! 
Tear-drops all dried, and anguish all forgotten ; 



THE CROWN. 61 

Or, if remember'd, only like a dream 

Or feverish vision of some sleepless hour ; 

The recollection of the night of woe 

Enhancing all the more the joys of morn ! 

No night of Death is there ; no sever'd ties ; 

No rifled households, and no sad farewells ; 

No tear of Widowhood to dim the eye ; 

No open'd graves. No night of Sin is there ; 

No more corruptions chaining down the soul, 

Hamp'ring its energies, the fertile cause 

Of all the suff 'rings of a sufF'ring world. 

Which makes the Christian Pilgrim feel his path, 

From first to last, a toilsome battle-field — 

No rest till Death discharge him. But in Heaven 

The trumpet peal is mute. The warrior there 

His armour cast aside — the conflict's done — 

The Victory achieved ! Faith lost in sight, 

And Hope in full fruition ! This, for Ever ! 

Oh, wondrous words ! Glory to know no end ! 

Oceans of Joy, unbounded by a shore ! 

For Ever! 'Tis Eternity ! — "the life-time 

Of the Almighty !" — Christian, thine existence is 

Commensurate with that of God Himself ! 

One Endless Sabbath — and that Sabbath — Love! 



62 THE CROWN. 

Teach me to live the heir of such a world : 
Thankful to bear my Cross for such a Crown ; 
Content to steer the shatter'd bark of life 
To reach a port like this. And though the past 
With warning voice prepares me to expect 
The night of trial here ; yet still l6t Faith, 
Stretching her eye beyond life's dim horizon, 
Rest on the brighter shores, and many mansions. 
And better Friend above ! Be this my beacon. 
Wooing me onwards, buffeting the storm — 
'' Mourner, there is no night of Trial there ! " 

But who can dare to lift the hidden veil 
Inscrutable, which hides from mortal gaze 
That festival of bliss ? '' Eye hath not seen, 
Nor ear hath heard, nor human heart conceived " 
Its wonders. God himself the " All in All ! " 
The focus of a Light ineffable, 
To which, the origin and end of all. 
Each lesser ray of glory will converge. 
The myriad blood-bought worshippers engaged 
In pondering His searchless attributes, 
Or mystic secrets of Incarnate love. 
For, lo ! in midst of the Eternal Throne, 



THE CROWN. 63 

Stands there '^ a Lamb as if it had been slain ! " 
Its scars and blood-marks eloquently speak 
To an adoring Heaven ! The ransom'd throng 
Scaling its heights and fathoming its deeps, 
Unfolding new discoveries of grace 
And mercy infinite ! The mighty Problem 
Still unexplored and inexplorable. 
Elicits the confession — ^' Oh, the depth! " 

Oh ! come, sweet heavenly dawn ! bright day 
of peace, 
A halcyon reign of cloudless, tearless bliss ! 
One everlasting summer, with no winter ! 
No killing frosts to mock the reaper's hopes. 
Or mar his joyous song ! One endless morning, 
Stranger to night ! Each ransom'd spirit, like 
Some peerless orb of light, up climbing high 
A boundless firmament, but ne'er attain 
Its full meridian ! The Tree of Life 
Waving immortal fragrance, and its fruits 
Perennial ! Each toil-worn warrior 
Of earth, his forehead laving with the stream 
Which rolls its crystal waters from the Throne 
Of God and of the Lamb, there washing off 



64 THE CKOWN. 

The blood and dust of battle, and exchanging 
The Pilgrim armour for the Pilgrim rest ! 

Oh, come, thou blessed Haven of repose, 
Where not one wave of trouble e'er shall roll ! 
How do I wish these gloomy waters pass'd, 
To feel secure m- ithin thy stormless shelter ! 
Wave upon wave is sweeping over me, 
But, oh ! thrice blessed thought, they drive me not 
Amid the quicksands and the eddying currents 
I leave behind : each in succession wafts me 
Nearer and nearer to that blissful shore. 
Lo ! I already see the shining cliffs 
And glitt'ring Temples in the dim horizon ; 
I hear the cadence of no earthly music 
Fall on my ravish'd Ear ! — It is — it is 
The anthem peal of glory ! thrilling chorus ! 
As if ten thousand times ten thousand harps 
Were strung to form one mighty orchestra, 
Waking the Echoes of Eternity ! 

God ! I cannot listen to the thunders ! 

Hush'd be the music of my earthly strains, 
And let the choirs of Heaven take up the song. 



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